The Guardian
by Incoming Grapefruit
Summary: Newly knighted Sir Leon is appointed the arduous task of preventing eight-year-old Arthur Pendragon from throwing himself headlong into danger at the first whiff of adventure. Things don't always go according to plan.


_**Hello, everyone!**_

_**It's been a few weeks since my last post, but I've been too wrapped up in this story to update the previous one (fear not, that is next on my to-do list). At long last, here is the wee!Arthur/Leon fic that I alluded to last month. :)**_

_**While I don't necessarily consider this story to fall under the category of 'alternative universe', some of you may disagree. There is a significant age difference between Arthur and Leon, that is clear even in the TV show, but in this story that age gap is 11 years. So if we're saying this is in sync with canon, and that Arthur in S1 of the show is about 24, then Leon is 35 at the beginning of the Merlin series. Which works just fine for my headcanon, but each to their own. :P**_

_**I always couldn't help but pick up on the relationship between Arthur and Leon in the TV show. Right from S1, he was the knight who stood by the prince's side, who had the King's counsel. And when he was thought to have perished (only to be brought back by the Cup of Life), Arthur's grief was matched only by Uther's. Which brought the plot bunnies bounding out of their burrows.**_

_**Clearly there's history between Leon and the Pendragons; history that was just waiting to be explored. This is a fragment of their past together. Enjoy!**_

* * *

"You sent for me, Sire?"

Uther glanced up from the letter he had been penning, gracing the knight with a rare smile that was, for lack of a better phrase, mildly disconcerting.

"Ah, Sir Leon. Do come in." He set aside his quill in the crystal inkwell to his right and raised a hand to beckon the young knight closer. Then turning, he reached for a silver flagon resting on a tray nearby, pouring wine into one of the goblets with a steady hand. "I trust I find you in good health?"

Leon crossed the room to stand before the king, the desk a reassuring barrier between them. "Aye, Sire, thank you."

"And how are you finding your duties as a knight of Camelot?" Uther inquired conversationally, passing him the goblet before pouring another for himself. "Bearing in mind that I appreciate honesty."

Leon blinked, rather taken aback by the king's uncharacteristically casual air, accepting the cup with murmured thanks and taking a sip to bolster his courage. "In truth, considerably lighter than my duties as a squire," he admitted, taking a seat at Uther's prompting gesture. "Although it _has_ only been a week since I took the oath, and the men tell me I'll likely be assigned duties of my own soon enough."

The king gave a low hum of acknowledgment, sipping from his own goblet as he regarded Leon steadily for a moment.  
"Dorogaen speaks very highly of you."

Warmth bloomed in Leon's chest, and he tried not to let it show on his face, although he could feel his lips straining to curl upwards into a pleased smile. Sir Dorogaen was but twelve years his senior, and the knight had become somewhat of a father figure to Leon over the past five years that he had trained as the man's squire. Built like a bear (broad-shouldered and burly, and standing a head taller than most), Dorogaen likely appeared fearsome to those who did not know him as the soft-spoken, unfailingly patient man he truly was. Although, granted, the man certainly _could_ be fierce when the situation demanded it, wielding sword and spear with deadly precision and bone-shattering force; and nary did an arrow miss its target when loosed from the string of his longbow. Leon had garnered somewhat of a reputation for himself as 'unflappable' through the bravery he had shown in battle, due in part to the simple fact that coexisting with Dorogaen for five years had given him nerves of steel; when fighting alongside a knight so fierce, the dark creatures of legend who attacked them from the northern woods seemed practically tame by comparison.

"It has been an honour to train under his tutelage," he spoke, with conviction. "I couldn't have asked for a better mentor."

"And you, he tells me, were an exemplary pupil," Uther remarked. "To pass the trials when you hold but nineteen winters to your name is certainly an impressive feat. And rumour has it that you have proven your worth in battle more often than knights twice your age."

Leon gave a small, self-conscious shrug, ill at ease to find himself under close scrutiny from a man of such authority. "Sir Dorogaen has been instrumental in establishing a patrol outpost along the border of the Darkening Woods, Sire; it was merely happenstance that I was present by his side during the attacks."

Uther regarded him again with that same quiet, intense gaze, until Leon was fighting the urge to shift in his seat. Finally, the king set his own goblet aside and steepled his fingers together above the stack of parchment, elbows resting on the edge of the table.

"I have a proposition for you."

The knight straightened imperceptibly, feeling a thrill of intermingled excitement and apprehension at the prospect of being appointed duties by the king of Camelot himself.

"It is a matter of the utmost importance," the older man warned. "A weighty responsibility; one that oughtn't to be taken a lightly. Camelot's future depends on it."

Leon inclined his head gravely. "Whatever the task may be, you have my service, Sire," he vowed. "As in all things."

o~O~o

"The royal _child-minder_?"

Leon scowled at his companion, kicking him under the table before returning his attention to the thick sheaf of parchment that detailed his new duties.

"Those are your words, Kay, not the king's."

The sandy-haired squire scooted his chair further back to move beyond Leon's reach, his grin failing to lessen by so much as a fraction, eyes shining with mirth as he tossed a grape at the other man's head.

"But why in heaven's name did he choose _you_ to play nursemaid? You're barely of age yourself!"

"He thinks that Arthur would benefit from the guidance of someone closer to his own age, rather than one of the Elders," Leon replied with a dignified air. "And I'm not a _nursemaid_, you brat. I've been assigned to act as Arthur's field tutor for the summer months now that the threat of war has lessened. King Uther felt that the prince's previous training masters had been negligent in giving the child the necessary experience to survive beyond the citadel without aid."

"Well, the boy's only _eight_," Kay reasoned, propping his feet up on the edge of the table and snagging one of the sheets of parchment to peruse it absently. "Prince or no, one could hardly expect him to have the knowledge and skills to fend for himself in the wilds."

Without so much as glancing up from his task, Leon reached across the space between them to shove the younger man's booted feet off his table, arching a brow at one of the items listed on the page he was reading.

"Item forty-seven," he read aloud. "Detailed instruction on how to collect firewood and kindling. Item forty-eight: Detailed instruction and manual training on how to light a fire."

Kay snatched the paper from him, eyes skimming down the list until he reached the aforementioned items. "What have they been _teaching_ the lad?" he asked in wonderment. "Were his tutors even trying?"

"He's the future king of Camelot," the knight reasoned, taking the parchment back to finish reading. "I doubt they allow him to do more than feed and bathe himself unsupervised, poor lad. Besides," he added, glancing up from the list to shoot a teasing grin towards his friend, "you still can't light a fire without burning yourself, and you're ten years his senior."

Kay tossed another grape at his head. "Shut up."

"I don't have to stand for this sort of disrespect anymore, you know." Leon gestured towards the red cloak and chainmail draped over the footboard of his bed (he had yet to grow accustomed to the weight of them and tended to shed them the moment he was in the privacy of his own chambers). "I'm a knight of Camelot now."

"Quite right. My apologies." Kay threw two grapes at him. "Shut up, _my lord_."

Leon's lips twitched. "Better." He pulled the bowl of grapes away from Kay's reach. "Stop wasting food. And it's past noon; don't you have duties to attend to?"

"Oh, _hell_!" Kay sprung up from his seat, knocking his chair back scrabbling to catch it before it hit the floor. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You have ears of your own," the knight responded lightly, his expression bordering on smug as he turned the page over and continued reading. "Although I believe you were too busy laughing at my expense to notice when the noon bells tolled."

"You _know_ Sir Gareth loathes tardiness!" The squire fumbled to fasten his sword-belt, almost tripping over the edge of the hearthrug on his way to the door. "Curse you, Leon!"

"Why don't you try that again, but with civility?" Leon prompted, quoting Sir Gareth's favourite phrase of choice, trying (and failing) to hide his amusement.

"Curse you, _my lord_!"

Laughing, Leon shook his head, getting up from the table to close the door behind Kay (his friend had an aggravating propensity for leaving it open every time he departed, and no amount of ribbing had yet broken him of that particular habit). Perhaps Uther had chosen more wisely than he had initially believed – Leon already tutored one child in the form of Kay (although the younger man would thump him for saying so). Surely Prince Arthur couldn't prove to be too much of a challenge in comparison?

o~O~o

"Gone?" Leon echoed, staring blankly at the nursemaid, certain that he had misheard her. "Gone where?"

Wringing her hands, face wrought with guilt and worry, the dark-haired caregiver shook her head. "I do not know, my lord. He was here beside Morgana only a moment ago!"

She pointed further into the room – the children's playroom, judging by the sheer number of wooden toys and assorted oddities that lined the shelves and spilled out of wooden chests to scatter across the floor. In the centre of the room, sitting daintily at a low table and trying to force-feed sandwiches to her ragdoll, sat a young raven-haired girl no older than the prince himself. She glanced up to regard him curiously, then promptly kicked the nearest doll off its stool and pointed to the empty place in a regal manner.

"We're having lunch," she announced grandly, head held high. "Please be seated."

Leon smiled at her, but shook his head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I'm afraid I have other duties to attend to."

Morgana's lips turned down in a sour expression, and she thumped the table with a small, clenched fist. "It is not polite to refuse a lady's hospitality!"

"Morgana!" the nursemaid scolded, sounding more tired than cross. "Sir Leon isn't here to play, he's looking for Arthur."

The child's expression froze. Then a tiny smile curled at the corner of her mouth, before vanishing as she resumed mashing bread and meat into her doll's cross-stitched mouth. Leon - who had been around enough children (and Kay) to know that this particular hidden smile meant trouble - moved to crouch down beside her at the low table.

"Do you happen to know where Arthur is, Morgana?"

"Perhaps," she agreed calmly, taking a dainty sip of milk from her small goblet before dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief.

"Will you tell me?"

Another sip. "No."

"What if I promise to dine with you later this week?" Leon bribed with a strained smile.

Morgana regarded him warily, suspicion in her gaze. "No tricks? You swear it?"

Leon put a hand to his chest. "On my honour as a knight, Lady, I swear to dine with thee upon your next request if you but aid me in finding Prince Arthur."

"You're a knight?" the child asked, eyes widening a little as her gaze flickered from his casual tunic to his weathered breeches, then back up again. "You don't _look_ like a knight."

"Do I not?" Leon queried with a soft note of laughter in his voice. "And what does a knight look like, my lady?"

Morgana thought for a moment, brow creased. "Grumpy," she replied after a beat. "And old. Your face is too pretty." She touched his beardless chin with curious fingers, suspicion in her gaze. "Are you sure you're a knight?"

"Aye, fairly certain."

She stared at him a moment longer in a manner that was startling akin to Uther's intense scrutiny, before nodding in apparent satisfaction and returning her attention to her plate.

"He went to prove he's not a chicken."

Leon tilted his head a little to one side, arching a brow. "And how did he intend to do that?"

"Well," Morgana began, and drew in a deep breath, clearly preparing for a rant, "he _said_ he was braver than me, and I said he wasn't because he's still scared of thunderstorms, and he said he _was_ because he'd sat on the wall of the battlements once and not been scared at all, and I called him a liar, and he called me a crow-head, so I called him a chicken, and he said he wasn't, and I said he was, and he said he wasn't, so I told him to prove it, and then he ran off and-"

There was likely a great deal more to be said, for Morgana seemed loath to stop now that she had begun, but Leon did not hear the rest of it, already running out of the door. He was grateful that the afternoon's tasks would require him to wear simple clothes, else his chainmail would have slowed him down significantly, and he likely would have been out of puff before he reached the top of the steep, winding staircase that led up to the battlements. Knowing his luck, he'd arrive just in time to see the prince careening over the edge, and he'd go down in history as the knight with the shortest service record, for Uther had made it perfectly clear what would happen should any undue harm befall his son while the boy was under Leon's care. _Most displeased_, indeed. Given how murderous Uther seemed on a good day, Leon didn't much fancy facing his wrath on a bad one.

By nothing short of a miracle, Leon found the lad quickly enough. He was indeed seated upon the wall of the battlements, but apparently the prince had enough good sense to keep as far back as he could and sit cross-legged (rather than scooting to the edge and dangling his legs over the other side as Leon had initially feared would be the case). Morgana, it seemed, had been wrong – Arthur Pendragon was no chicken.

Fearing that calling the boy by name would startle him into losing his balance, Leon chose to forgo the formalities and simply plucked Arthur from the wall with a hand beneath each armpit. The prince gave a startled squawk and flailed in Leon's hold, but the boy was small for his eight years and weighed less than a saddlebag, so it wasn't difficult to move them both a few paces away from the wall before setting the child down again and sinking to one knee in front of him, bringing them to a more level height.

"Good afternoon, sire."

His tone was far from stern, but there was the barest hint of disapproval that he couldn't quite eliminate (the prince had been _sitting on the battlements_, after all, and if this guardianship was going to work, they would need to set certain ground rules regarding the lad's safety).

Several emotions flickered across the boy's expression – surprise at finding himself displaced so suddenly; annoyance at being disturbed; guilt at being discovered doing something that he likely knew was forbidden – before he cocked his head a little to one side, wary and curious in equal measure.

"Who are you?"

"Sir Leon," he replied, and held a clenched hand to his breast, dipping his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement of the boy's regal status. "Knight of Camelot."

Arthur's features brightened at that, recognition dawning in his eyes as his face broke into a smile.

"I know you!" he exclaimed with a bright, eager smile. "You fight against Sir Dorogaen on the training fields, even though he's _huge_."

"Indeed he is," Leon agreed, trying not to laugh at the boy's blunt honesty. "Dorogaen was my mentor, and I learnt a great deal from him during my training. And now your father has asked me to pass some of those skills on to you."

The boy's eyes widened in obvious excitement. "I get to be your squire?"

"Not quite." Leon patted his shoulder in reassurance when Arthur's expression immediately fell. "You're not yet of age, sire. And while I do not doubt your bravery and enthusiasm for the task," Arthur's chin lifted proudly at that, "you must reach fourteen summers before you can undertake such intense training."

"But that's…" Arthur glanced down at his hands, using his fingers to perform the mental arithmetic. His face fell again. "That's not for another _six summers_."

"And there is much to learn in the meantime," Leon encouraged with a gentle smile. "Most boys your age would undertake their initial training as a Page, but tradition dictates that such a role is unbefitting of a prince. For now, I'll teach you what squires-in training ought to be learning from the lords they serve under."

Arthur cocked his head to one side again. "Should I call you 'My Lord'?"

The knight laughed softly and shook his head. "No, sire. 'Leon' is fine."

The boy seemed pleased by the lack of formality; likely it was something his father would not normally allow, but Leon had been knighted only seven days and was still unaccustomed to the title, especially coming from the _prince_ himself. One day, when Arthur was of age, the lad would take his rightful place at his father's side and govern the knights of Camelot, leading them into battle and overseeing their training. It would feel strange to demand such respect from a boy who would one day wear the crown.

"Leon?"

He shook himself from his thoughts and refocused his gaze on the boy, who was staring at him with no small amount of trepidation. "When you said you were going to 'teach' me things…you didn't mean out of _books_, did you?"

The tone of disgust in which he uttered the word 'books' coaxed a soft, amused grin from the young knight. "You do not enjoy your lessons, sire?"

Arthur pulled a face. "Geoffrey is _boring_."

Good Lord, is _that_ who Uther had appointed as his son's tutor? The keeper of the castle archives was an elderly nobleman of great intelligence, but he was as dull as a mid-autumn sky. No wonder the boy lacked enthusiasm for his studies. Not that Leon, despite his father's best efforts, had ever found much joy for them himself. Prior to becoming Dorogaen's squire, his head had been filled with boyish dreams of battles and adventure, and far too often he had gotten himself into mischief seeking out lost treasures in the woods near his father's manor.

And speaking of mischief…

"There is a small matter we still need to discuss, sire," he spoke, growing serious, careful to keep his tone even. "First and foremost, a knight must keep his wits about him and avoid putting himself in needless peril. Are you normally permitted sit upon the battlements?"

Arthur didn't give a verbal response, but the way he ducked his head and fiddled with the sleeve of his tunic was answer enough. Still, Leon pressed for a verbal response, gently tapping the boy beneath the chin until he made eye contact again.

"No, Leon," Arthur managed, the words soft and meek and guilt-ridden.

"No," the knight echoed. "You are not. Such rules are put in place for your own safety, sire – there would have been nothing to prevent you from falling, had you lost your balance. I understand that the thrill of such a challenge was invigorating, but it was foolish nonetheless. Your father has appointed me to safeguard your well-being during our time together, and I would not see you killed over a mere dare from the lady Morgana." He held Arthur's gaze, softening his tone a little. "I would have your word, young prince, that you will never come up here again unaccompanied."

Arthur nodded quickly. "I promise. I'm sorry, I won't do it again."

Leon smiled at the immediate response and rose smoothly to his feet. "Apology accepted." With a guiding hand on the lad's shoulder, he led the way towards the staircase, "Come. We have much to do, and the afternoon wears on."

The prince moved forwards a few paces, then came to a halt, looking up towards the older youth with a hesitant expression.  
"Are you going to tell Father about this?"

"No, sire," the knight soothed, inwardly balking at the idea of confronting Uther with the news that his only son and heir had almost pitched himself over the castle battlements. "No harm was done; it can stay between the two of us."

Arthur brightened immediately, a slight bounce in his step as he continued on towards the step. "Where are we going? Are you going to teach me about fighting? Can I see your sword? What sort of training are you-"

Leon stoppered the eager flow of questions with a soft laugh, ruffling the boy's hair on impulse (not that the lad seemed to mind the affection) and leading the way down the winding stairs.

"We're going to the stables, sire. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

o~O~o

Arthur carefully placed another sliver of apple on the flat of his hand, extending the appendage towards the velvet-soft lips that parted eagerly to pluck the proffered treat from his palm. The horse snuffled the empty hand, then lightly butted its head against Arthur's chest, nickering softly. The prince beamed and reached for another slice, fingers trailing lightly through the beast's forelock.

Watching the pair interact, Leon smiled, adjusting the leather straps on the saddle to lower the stirrups. "It seems he likes you."

Arthur glanced up at him briefly, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, before averting his eyes again and continuing to caress Arion's sleek, dark coat, his touch reverent.

"I love horses," the boy confessed. "But Heleanor never lets me saddle or groom Hengroen because she says he's too big for me. I'm not even allowed to _ride_ him except in the paddock with my instructor. Dalgon says I'm too young; that Father wouldn't approve."

Leon's smile turned sympathetic. "I had similar restrictions when I was your age," he admitted, moving to lead Arion from his stall but hesitating at the last moment. After a brief pause, he handed the reins to Arthur instead, and prompted the boy to move forward by resting a hand between his shoulder blades and guiding him towards the stable doors, the bay charger following behind obediently. "But don't worry, your time will come."

Arthur's perked up instantly when he realised they were not, in fact, heading towards the fenced area of the training fields, but rather towards the path that would lead them down through the gates of the citadel and into the lower town. He turned keen, curious eyes towards Leon, almost tripping over his own feet but not seeming to notice.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought perhaps, with the weather so fair, we could ride out to the village of Henwick. Market day is always a sight to behold."

Arthur ground to a halt, eyes wide. "You mean I'm allowed to go beyond the lower gates?"

Leon inclined his head, eyebrow arching. "You've never been beyond the walls of the city?"

The prince indicated the negative with a slow shake of his head. "Father always said it was too dangerous unless my tutors were with me, and they never wanted to risk making him cross."

The knight felt a twinge of sympathy for the lad, fully appreciating just how lonely and isolated a life the prince had been leading up to this point. Not that he didn't understand the king's fears – for the past two years, the threat of war had been a very real concern between the land of Mercia and the kingdom of Camelot, and any attempts at peace between Uther and Lord Bayard had often ended in bloodshed on both sides. They had drawn a stalemate, of sorts – no man from either kingdom was permitted to set foot across the border that divided them, on pain of death – and while Camelot no longer lived in fear of attack, the people remained wary, as if sensing that the animosity had not yet reached a point of climax. Leon tended to agree with them; hatred still burned strong between Bayard and Uther (two men as stubborn-willed as each other and equally unforgiving), and where anger brewed, violence tended to follow. He doubted this fragile truce between them would last long.

"The roads are safer now," he assured the lad, although Arthur seemed to harbour no fears of his own regarding the kingdom that lay beyond the gates – indeed, if the boy walked any faster, Arion would need to break into a trot to keep up. "Knights patrol them daily, and the surrounding woods are protected by the perimeter guards. We're unlikely to encounter any danger."

Arthur seemed disappointed at the news, and Leon grinned fondly, patting his back. "Trust me, sire, you don't want to run into bandits. There are far more exciting adventures to be had that don't involve fleeing for your life."

They passed beneath the archway that led into the castle courtyard, Leon raising a hand in greeting when he spotted Kay's lanky figure descending the castle step at a jog. The knight pressed down on Arthur's shoulder gently, urging the lad to stop and wait for the auburn-haired squire to join them.

"This is Kay," he spoke, stooping down a little so that Arthur could hear him above the hubbub of the bustling courtyard. "He's a good friend of mine. Kay, this is Prince Arthur."

Kay spared a moment to give Leon a look that said _'well, obviously'_, then turned to smile down at Arthur, pressing his clenched fist to his chest and dipping forward in a shallow bow.

"Sire."

Arthur blinked up at him, then leaned back a little to not-so-subtly whisper to Leon, "Is he a knight too?"

"Not yet," the man replied, hiding a smile at Kay's poorly hidden affronted look. "He's Sir Gareth's squire."

"Oh." The prince seemed disappointed for a moment, before his gaze locked onto the item in the squire's arms. "Is that a sword? May I see it? Please?"

Kay grinned, tossing the blue cloak he'd draped over one arm towards Leon, the fabric hitting the knight square in the face. By the time he'd wrestled it off again, Kay was already down one knee, carefully unsheathing the polished weapon. Leon had to bite his tongue to keep from warning the lad not to touch it, acknowledging that while Arthur was young, he was no fool, and would know not to slide a finger along the sharpened edge of the blade.

"Is this yours?" the prince asked, touching the leather-bound hilt reverently, eyes fixed on the gleaming steel.

"It's Leon's," the squire replied, sheathing it again slowly. "Lucky bastard got given it as a knighting gift."

"Kay," Leon chided sharply. "Language."

Apparently remembering the presence of a child in their midst, Kay handed the sword over to Leon quickly and put a clenched fist to his breastbone again, dipping his head.

"Sorry, sire," he said, and for once he sounded genuinely rueful. "Slip of the tongue."

Arthur regarded him sombrely for a long moment, and just when Leon was about to apologise on his friend's behalf (because if word of this got back to Sir Gareth – or, heaven forbid, the king – it'd be taken out of Kay's hide), the prince's face broke into a grin.

"I like you," he announced, and gave Kay a very companionable pat on the shoulder while the youth still knelt on the flagstones. Then he turned to glance up at Leon, head cocked to one side. "Why aren't you dressed like a knight?"

"Because it'd be too conspicuous," Leon replied, fastening the plain cloak about his shoulders. "And while you'll be perfectly safe on the road between the city and the town of Henwick, it would be unwise to announce your departure. Word might spread to those who wish to cause you harm. But they would be looking for a prince being escorted by a knight of Camelot, not a lad riding with a simple tradesman. We'll go unnoticed if we don't bear the royal crest."

The boy nodded and fell silent, waving goodbye to Kay when the youth excused himself with a grin and a roughly sketched bow and ran back up the castle steps to return to his duties. Leon finished adjusting his sword-belt, then checked the girth on Arion's saddle before interlocking his fingers and bending down a little to give Arthur a boost, steadying the lad when he overcompensated and almost hurtled clean over the horse's back. It wasn't until Leon had swung up behind him smoothly and settled his feet into the stirrups that the boy spoke again.

"Does…does that mean I don't have to be a prince today?"

"Aye, if you like," Leon agreed, careful to keep his tone light and cheerful even as sympathy twinged within him at the longing in the lad's voice.

He reached around Arthur's narrow form and gathered up the reins, gently pressing his heels into Arion's sides to urge him into a brisk walk. The boy stiffened initially, unused to the long stride of such a tall mount, but he quickly adjusted to the pace and relaxed a little in the saddle, although he kept his fingers clenched securely around the pommel.

"Leon?" he hedged after several minutes of silence.

"Yes, sire?"

Arthur hesitated briefly, then seemed to gather his courage, chin lifting. "If I'm not to be a prince this afternoon, will you call me 'Arthur' instead of 'sire'?"

"Aye," the knight repeated softly, unable to keep the smile from his voice. "If you like."

The boy glanced back at him over his shoulder, grinning with open joy as though Leon had just offered him the kingdom itself. It was a contagious grin, one that the young knight found himself returning with equal parts enthusiasm and fondness. Arthur settled back against him more comfortably, his tight grip on the pommel loosening as they made their way through the busy lower towns. Many of the guards recognised him as they passed through the gates, and inclined their heads in greeting, eyeing Arthur with open curiosity (for indeed, despite the boy's age, few in Camelot who worked beyond the walls of the citadel had ever seen the prince). And as predicted, without the glaring, regal red of Camelot's livery, the townsfolk barely gave them a second glance.

He kept Arion in check at a brisk walk beyond the outer wall of the city, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as Arthur began to shift restlessly within a matter of minutes. If the boy was anything like he'd been at that age, the slow pace was likely getting to him. Lo and behold, they had barely reached the corner of the first wheat crop before Arthur was tugging lightly on the sleeve of the knight's tunic.

"Leon?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Um…may we go a little faster, please?"

The knight smiled. "Grip with your knees," he reminded the boy. "And hold onto the pommel if you need to. Arion has a rolling stride, but he won't unseat you."

Arthur nodded, following the older youth's instructions without question. "Has he ever unseated you?"

"Oh, plenty of times," Leon replied with a chuckle, urging the horse into a canter, keeping an arm around Arthur's midriff for the first few strides until the boy had grown used to the pace. "But usually I deserved it."

Arthur's responding laughter was mostly lost in the sudden rush of wind, but it lightened Leon's heart all the same. He got the impression that it was not a sound often heard within the stony, grey confines of the castle walls. And perhaps that was something he could change. One exhilarating experience at a time.

o~O~o

* * *

**_That's all for this week, folks. Tune in next week for the second instalment. _**

**_I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This one will likely be a series of loosely connected snippets centred around the growing brotherhood between wee!Arthur and Leon. I'll probably add a new story every week or so - and while I have a dozen or so tales of my own waiting to be written, I'm happy to take requests. Just drop me a line, or leave a review, and I'll try to accommodate you as best I can. :)_**

**_Until next time!_**

**_Grapefruit xoxoxox_**


End file.
